


as you come and I go

by Razia



Series: faded roses in the backyard [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Hirako Shinji Needs A Hug, M/M, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razia/pseuds/Razia
Summary: Ichigo finds a familiar man on the roof.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon has received some swift kicks for this to work how I want. Title is from [Roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKeEriXB9Ek), by Ghostly Kisses. It’s a haunting, melancholic song; give it a listen!
> 
> Many thanks to Dyal for listening to me blabber about it and have a mini heart attack, and to Fred and Howls for being such awesome betas <3

 

 

 

 

There’s a familiar man on the roof.

As in, there’s a Shinji-like man sitting on the roof of his house, but it’s clearly not the Shinji Ichigo knows, because that Shinji is on the other side of town—Ichigo can’t actually tell with his shitty sensing, but he just came home from leashing-the-hollow training, so he gathers Shinji hasn’t moved from the warehouse.

And even if he had, Ichigo doubts he would have cut his hair close to his head in such a short time.

Still, his face is kind of unmistakable, even from a distance. Ichigo shuffles along the street, exhaustion dragging his feet along the last twenty meters to his house. He stops at the gate, but the man doesn’t look down. Ichigo’s certain he has been noticed. He considers his window for a moment, wondering if he can make the jump with his body weighing him down; then he jumps anyway, barely landing at his window. He stops long enough to throw his bag inside and his body onto the bed, then hops up to the roof—an easier job with only his soul, but still spending some precious energy.

The man just sits there, quiet, unmoving but for the wind rustling his clothes. (A pair of old jeans and a white t-shirt, a black backpack that's seen better days, and Ichigo is surprised to see such casual clothing on someone who’s usually flashier.)

Ichigo knows he should be wary, should be suspicious, and he _is_ , because Aizen is still out there; this could be a plot to get him to lower his guard, but it’s not a smart move, doesn’t seem like something Aizen would do. If they were going to copy someone Ichigo knows and use them as bait, it wouldn’t be Shinji. (He carefully does not think that Aizen would probably use his sisters.)

He is suspicious... but the feeling of _everything’s fine for now_ doesn’t want to leave, and Ichigo trusts his instincts.

He still moves with caution though, alert to the smallest movement, especially since he’s so drained. His eyes stay fixed on the man as he approaches and sits down beside him, legs dangling from the edge of the roof. From the side view, not-Shinji looks... older.

Ichigo doesn’t know why he has that impression, because what he can see doesn’t seem that much different, aside from the very short hair; perhaps some new wrinkles around the eye, or maybe the heavier set of his mouth... and maybe something in the way he holds himself.

Then, maybe-Shinji turns to him and Ichigo feels his breath catch inside his lungs.

“Hey there, Ichigo.”

Ichigo takes a few seconds to shamelessly stare. There’s a nasty scar running perpendicular to his left eye, from his forehead to his cheek, two paths, like something tried to claw his eye out. The iris and the pupil are white, probably completely blind.

Maybe-Shinji smiles at the scrutiny, like he’s used to it. He probably is, considering how old the scar looks. The expression pulls at the scar and Ichigo almost winces in sympathy, but the smile also illuminates the man’s face and Ichigo can definitely see the Shinji he knows in it. His brain runs around a few ideas and latches onto one that he almost thinks impossible, except that after months of shinigami and quincy and mod souls, impossible just seems to be another term for _someone hasn’t figured this out yet_.

He crosses his legs, settling himself more comfortably beside the dude-who-might-be-Shinji, slowly, careful of his sore muscles. He knows he doesn’t quite hide a wince, and feels a sharp gaze settle on him, but neither of them comments on it. He turns then, catches a pair of eyes that look so much like the ones he knows, and yet so different because the world-weariness in them, while not new, is deeper and darker.

“So,” Ichigo licks his lips, hesitates for a second, “did you come from an apocalyptic future?”

He valiantly doesn’t blush as probably-future-Shinji chuckles at him. It’s not a malicious sound, though. He looks genuinely delighted as he smiles at Ichigo.

“Ah, ya figured it right away, huh?”

“To be fair, it’s basically the only thing that makes sense, besides dimension travel.” Then Ichigo squints at him, but Shinji shakes his head, smile still in place.

“Don'tcha worry, I didn’t go ‘round hoppin’ dimensions.”

“Okay, then.”

Silence falls between them; Ichigo wouldn’t say it’s entirely comfortable, but he also doesn’t feel the urgency that swims in his head when he’s around the warehouse. The Visoreds look at him like he’s a burden, and even though Ichigo pretends not to notice, it chafes.

But this Shinji... he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. He’s not looking at Ichigo like he’s waiting for him to give up. He’s not looking at Ichigo like he’s a disappointment. Ichigo isn’t quite certain what the look Shinji is giving him means, but it doesn’t make him want to curl up on himself and hide, so he takes it as a good thing.

“When did you come from?”

A barely there smile graces Shinji’s face for a moment, before falling away. “Six years.”

“...why did you come?”

Shinji opens his mouth to answer and promptly grimaces, shoulders bunching up as if he’s in pain. Ichigo doesn’t think, just reaches a hand to Shinji’s arm, maybe to offer comfort or to keep him from falling sideways or something, he’s not quite sure what.

(He doesn’t miss the way Shinji’s hand twitches toward his zanpakutou, and thinks _shit, I could have lost my arm_.)

“What—”

Shinji laughs, an ugly little thing, so unhappy it makes Ichigo frown. “Let’s just say there are things I’m not allowed ta share.”

At Ichigo's confused face, he grabs his lower lip and pulls it down, revealing a... tattoo? It looks new, the skin around it still red and puffy. Ichigo has never seen the symbol before, a series of intricate knots and dots, but it makes a chill run down his spine anyway. Shinji lets his lip go, hiding the tattoo from view.

“It’s a seal,” he says. “It keeps me from blabberin’.”

“Blabbering about the future? But isn’t that the point?”

“I didn’t come’ere ta speak, I came’ere ta act.” The phrase sounds rehearsed, like something Shinji has heard a thousand times. By the slight snarl starting to curl up his lips, he’s probably sick of hearing it.

“So you came here to stop whatever happens in the future. That’s it, right?” Ichigo has read and watched enough sci-fi to know that, if anyone comes back from the future, it’s to change something, and usually because things have gone to shit. He wonders exactly what went wrong, and some part of him really doesn’t want to know.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Shinji says. He doesn’t look surprised that Ichigo figured it out so quickly.

“And... you can’t tell me anything.”

“Yeah. I mean—” Shinji stops, sighs, something heavy on his shoulders. “I can tell ya some things. We’ll see how it goes. I’m not happy with this, but it was either havin' a seal or not comin' at all, and that was not gonna happen.” He looks at Ichigo with something dark, some anger directed at someone or something else. But there’s also a fierceness Ichigo isn’t used to seeing on Shinji, and _that_ is directed at him.

He swallows, head swimming with questions. He wants to ask, wants to know more, _tell me everything_ , but he’s tired and honestly, Shinji also looks tired, shadows under his eyes and shoulders slumped. It takes a few seconds for him to make a decision that he desperately hopes he won’t regret.

“Alright, c’mon then... it’s time for dinner. I’m sure Yuzu won’t mind an extra mouth.”

Shinji’s surprised expression lasts for a second before he smiles.

“I’d like that.”

Ichigo nods and hops down toward his window and into his body. He opens his door and shouts, “I’m home!”

“Welcome home!” Yuzu answers from downstairs.

It’s only when he’s closed the door again that he realizes Shinji didn’t follow him. He turns toward the window, worried, and the doorbell rings. He peeks outside and sees Shinji standing in the doorway. Ichigo stares, a little shocked. Yuzu opens the door and Shinji gives her a charming smile that Ichigo has also never seen before. Shinji is not usually someone who’s charming; he’s either a creep or a goof. Ichigo can’t hear what they’re saying, but Shinji steps inside and Ichigo is surprised Yuzu just let him in.

There’s a series of hurried steps on the stairs, and then Yuzu is knocking on his door. “Onii-chan!” Yuzu says through the door, “There’s a friend of yours downstairs! He said his name is Hirako-san?”

Ichigo opens the door. “Yeah, I was waiting for him. Thanks, Yuzu.”

“You should invite him for dinner! I made enough for five!” Ha! Ichigo knows Yuzu too well.

“Alright, thanks.”

Yuzu nods and turns, Ichigo following her downstairs. When he gets there, he’s hit by a realization—Yuzu can see Shinji.

He looks around the living room and spots Shinji sitting there, backpack by his feet and a pleasant expression on his face as Yuzu tells him that dinner will be ready in a moment. Shinji smiles, thanks her; she goes back to the kitchen. Ichigo stares.

Shinji stares back, smile turning mischievous. “What? Surprised I can be civil?” His voice is mild, almost carefree, but Ichigo’s sure he’s hearing some kind of self-deprecating tone in there.

Ichigo scowls, images of a younger version of Shinji being his obnoxious self in class enough to bring some irritation to the surface. Shinji grins like he knows exactly what Ichigo’s thinking. Huffing, Ichigo sits beside Shinji, facing him. “I’m just surprised you’re in a gigai,” he answers, voice low so Yuzu doesn’t hear him.

Shinji turns to him as well, settling more comfortably on the couch.

“Just a precaution, and ta make things easier. Besides, it’s not just any gigai; it’s specially made ta let me fight unhindered.” Shinji smiles, smug. “Courtesy of Kisuke.”

“Obviously. Who else would let you, of all people, have something valuable like that?”

Shinji narrows his eyes and his grip shifts on the cushion on his lap, like he’s considering smashing it in Ichigo’s face. Ichigo tenses in preparation, wonders if he can react fast enough, but before Shinji makes his move there’s a jingling sound of keys on the door. Karin steps inside, “I’m home!” leaving her lips as she takes off her shoes and leaves her backpack in a corner.

“Welcome home,” Ichigo says, and Karin turns to them, her eyes zeroing in on Shinji.

“...Hi.”

“Hello,” Shinji says, “I’m a friend of Ichigo’s, Hirako Shinji.” He gives her a surprisingly normal smile and Ichigo stares again, amazed. Karin nods, her eyes sliding to something near Shinji’s legs. Her eyes widen slightly and she looks back at Shinji. Shinji keeps on smiling, like nothing’s wrong, and after a few seconds, Karin nods and vanishes into the kitchen. Shinji returns Ichigo’s stare, smile turning creepy at the edges, like he can’t quite contain himself, and Ichigo rolls his eyes before looking down, wondering what Karin was looking at.

“Shinji.” Ichigo doesn’t notice how Shinji’s gaze sharpens at his name, eyes going dark with something like pain as they look at Ichigo. “Is that your zanpakutou?” Which is a stupid question, because Shinji almost cut Ichigo’s hand away with it earlier, but Ichigo is just now realizing that _Shinji has a zanpakutou in plain view while in a gigai_ , because fuck subtlety.

“What kinda question is that? ‘Course it is.”

Ichigo keeps staring, expression flat, and Shinji attempts a smile, but only something like the start of a grimace forms on his face; it doesn’t come out fully.

“So you’re just walking around with a zanpakutou?” Ichigo asks, some incredulity in his tone.

“Call me paranoid.”

“Yeah, you definitely are. What if someone sees it? Like, y’know, _my sister just did_?”

“And what are they gonna do ‘bout it? Call the cops and say ‘hey, there’s this dude walkin' ‘round with a ghost sword’?”

Ichigo shakes his head and chuckles despite himself, and the mood lightens. Just then, Yuzu shouts from the kitchen, “Onii-chan, Hirako-san, dinner’s ready!” Karin rushes from the kitchen and into the clinic. As Ichigo and Shinji sit around the table, Karin comes back with Isshin on her heels.

“Oh, what is this? Has my son brought home a male friend?” Isshin asks, mouth in a wide grin. Ichigo just ignores him, but he watches Shinji, wondering if Shinji can charm his way around Isshin as well.

Shinji smiles, the picture of politeness as he replies, “It's a pleasure to meet ya, Kurosaki-san. I'm Hirako Shinji, a friend of Ichigo's.” Ichigo thinks he sees something predatory on Shinji’s face, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. He might just be seeing things.

“Ah, Ichigo's friends are always welcome here!” Isshin answers, but Ichigo swears his smile seems frozen on his face. “Hirako Shinji, you said? Haven’t I seen you before?”

Shinji’s smile is still a charming facade. “I don’t think so, Kurosaki-san.”

“I see!” Isshin laughs, perfectly fake. “Forgive an old man; I thought you looked familiar.”

Ichigo feels the tension rise in the kitchen. He trades a glance with Karin, but she looks just as baffled as he feels. Shinji and Isshin are still looking at each other, until Yuzu says, “Everyone sit down please, let's eat before it gets cold!”

The strange stillness disperses. Ichigo frowns down at his plate, but right now is not the time to ask awkward questions, and he's _hungry_. Everyone sits around the table and Ichigo can’t help but think that it’s nice to finally use all five chairs again.

 

 

 

 

Dinner is... interesting. Shinji sits between Ichigo and Karin, maintaining a steady conversation with her about the games she’s playing. Ichigo is kind of shocked Shinji knows video games at all, but he can see the excited gleam in Karin’s eyes and doesn’t comment on it, because she’s always bemoaning that no one in this house ever wants to play with her.

Shinji compliments Yuzu’s food and manages to hold a twenty-minute conversation with her about their favorite dishes to make, but that one’s not a surprise because, despite Shinji pretending to be lazy when Ichigo is at the warehouse, he knows that Shinji can cook, and can cook well.

Surprisingly, or not, Shinji never engages Isshin. Not that Ichigo thinks that would have gone well anyway, because Isshin still has that frozen, fake smile on his face, the one that Ichigo feels like punching whenever he sees it. Shinji _does_ engage Ichigo though, when there’s a lull in the conversation with the girls.

“So, Ichigo... how’s school?”

Ichigo twitches, feeling a sudden urge to stab Shinji with his chopsticks.

“Oh, Onii-chan’s not going to school because he’s training, right?” Yuzu asks, eager to participate in the things Ichigo’s been doing. He almost winces with guilt; it’s been three days since he was last home, and he knows his sisters miss him.

“Ah. Skipping school ta train, then?” Shinji asks, voice incredibly dry. Ichigo valiantly resists the urge to kick Shinji, because he’s not five years old. He’s not.

“It _is_ weird, isn’t it?” Karin says. Ichigo shoots her a betrayed look that she ignores. “Training camp in the middle of a school semester. The people training you... don’t they care about that, Ichi-nii?”

“Yeah, Ichigo. Don’t they?” Shinji asks.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I don’t know, Shinji, why don’t you ask them?”

“Eh? Hirako-san knows them?” Yuzu asks.

“I do,” Shinji answers, expression serious. “Maybe I should go have a talk with them.” His eyes focus on Ichigo with an intensity he should be used to, after training with the Visoreds for two weeks, but... something about it is not exactly the same, and he can’t pinpoint why.

Still, Ichigo scoffs. There’s no way Shinji is going to announce his existence to the others. “Good luck with that,” he says.

“Thanks, but I don’t need luck.”

Ichigo throws Shinji a flat look that earns him a grin. An honest, happy grin that has no right in making Ichigo feel accomplished. So what if that’s one of the most open expressions he’s seen on Shinji’s face since he met him? Ichigo doesn’t care.

Also, he kicks Shinji, because Shinji’s an asshole and Ichigo is five years old after all.

But soon Karin hijacks the conversation back to games, and dinner is over quicker than he thought. Isshin is the first to leave, excusing himself back to the clinic. Ichigo watches him go, tension visible on his shoulders, but Ichigo shrugs it off. Not now. He wants to help Yuzu clean the table and do the dishes, but as soon as he gets up, dizziness makes him sit back down. Before he knows it, Shinji’s at his side, warm hand around his arm and a concerned look on his face.

“Ya look dead on yer feet. Off ta bed with ya.”

Ichigo glares. “I’m fine. I’m just going to help Yuzu.”

Shinji huffs and shares a look with Karin, and really? They’ve known each other for only an hour!

“I’ll help Yuzu, Ichigo. Ya just go crash. Don’t tell me yer gonna pass up a comfy bed right now?”

And dammit, but Shinji’s right. Ichigo’s been dreaming of his bed since his legs failed him in the middle of the trip between the warehouse and home, and he almost broke his face on the ground. Something must show in his expression, because Karin pats him on the shoulder and says, “Ichi-nii, just go. Hirako and I will help Yuzu.”

Ichigo sighs. No use in arguing when he’s outnumbered like that. Even Yuzu is sending him worried glances.

...Bed does sound nice.

“Yeah yeah, fine.”

He gets up slowly, testing his senses and his balance. When he feels like he’s not going to greet the floor with his face, he takes a step forward. Shinji lets go of his arm, but gives him a smug grin. “Don’t trip on the stairs and break yer nose, yeah? Blood’s annoyin’ to clean off.”

Karin muffles a laugh and Ichigo weighs the pros and cons of punching Shinji, and decides it’s not worth it. He leaves the kitchen and makes his way up the stairs, slower than he would like, and it takes a lot of concentration to keep his legs moving.

He’s already half asleep by the time he falls on his bed, still clothed.

 

 

 

 

He wakes again when his bedroom door closes softly, the sound slow to the ears, like someone’s trying to be careful. He opens his eyes and sees a flash of orange latch itself onto Shinji’s face.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, BASTARD? ICHIGO, THERE’S AN INVADER!” Kon shouts, trying to claw Shinji’s eyes out. Shinji flails for a moment before grabbing Kon by the scruff of his neck and holding him at arm’s length. Kon keeps thrashing in his grip, but Shinji only chuckles. Ichigo tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but his movements are sluggish and he really wants to go back to sleep.

“S’okay Kon, just Shinji,” Ichigo mumbles, fighting against the heaviness of his eyelids.

“IF YOU'RE GOING TO BRING SOMEONE TO YOUR ROOM, AT LEAST BRING A WO—” Shinji covers Kon’s mouth with his other hand. He brings Kon closer and Ichigo’s glad that scary expression Shinji’s wearing is not directed at him.

“Don’t yell, Kon. Can’t ya see Ichigo is tryin' ta sleep?”

Kon looks at Ichigo’s tired face, bags under his eyes, and deflates. Shinji deposits him on Ichigo’s desk, gentler than one would expect when he still has that expression. He turns to Ichigo then, and Ichigo realizes Shinji has his backpack and his zanpakutou.

“So, I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Wha’? Where’re you goin’?”

Shinji shrugs, face blank. Ichigo squints at him, trying to gauge his mood. “You can stay here,” Ichigo says, cautious, like the wrong word will set Shinji off. Shinji frowns at him, but Ichigo is pretty sure he sees some relief in there. “There’s a futon in my closet, just bring it out.” He tries to point, but his arm is heavy with sleep and it just falls to the side of the bed, limp.

Shinji stands there for maybe three seconds, just looking at him with an intensity that makes Ichigo squirm. Then he moves, leaves his backpack in a corner and brings the futon out of the closet. Ichigo closes his eyes and lets his mind wander, half-asleep, while Shinji prepares for bed. There’s a noise on his desk, probably Kon moving around. He’s pretty sure he hears Kon mutter something unflattering about Shinji. Shinji snorts and quips back, voice deep and very low, so carefully trying not to make any noise. Ichigo lets himself be lulled to sleep by it.

He’s awake just enough to feel someone moving his arm back to his side. That same someone grabs his blanket and gently wrestles it from beneath him, then covers him. He’s out again by the time Shinji sits at the edge of his bed and looks down at him, grief taking over his face.

It takes a long time for Shinji to fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://raz-ia.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated _(:3」∠)_


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

Despite how tired he was the night before, Ichigo wakes up with the sun. He looks at his ceiling for a while, swimming in half-awake limbo, until a rustle on the floor gets his attention. He rolls to the left and looks down. Yup, there’s an older version of Shinji sleeping on his futon. Ichigo stares, curiosity and incredulity flaring up. For half a second, right after waking, Ichigo thought he had imagined it all. But no, Shinji _is_ here, looking weary with his scar and short hair and thin frame. Shinji’s here, six years in the past, alone, because the future went to shit.

Ichigo feels a sudden burst of respect for him. He does respect present Shinji for his battle prowess, but he doesn’t know him. This Shinji though, this older version, seems more like a real person. Like someone with tastes and flaws and strengths. Like someone whom Ichigo can sit down and have a conversation with.

Shinji shifts and Ichigo’s attention focuses back on him. He’s curled in a tight ball on the futon. His face is tense and his hands have the blanket in a tight grip, knuckles white.

He’s having a nightmare.

Ichigo hesitates, but reaches out. He gently touches Shinji’s shoulder, unsure of how much pressure to put into the touch. Should he wake him at all?

But Ichigo doesn’t get time to retreat. As soon as he touches him, Shinji grabs his wrist, so quick he doesn’t even see the movement. Ichigo flinches in surprise. The grip is tight, just shy of hurting. Shinji opens his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to be focusing on anything, and his face is set in something close to panic. Ichigo holds his breath and waits. A few seconds of tension, then Shinji finally focuses on Ichigo. He blinks and his eyes go wide when he realizes what’s happening. He releases Ichigo, and something crosses his face, but goes away before Ichigo can read it.

“Sorry,” Shinji says, voice rough from sleep.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Ichigo.” Shinji’s expression slides into seriousness, even as he rubs his eyes, and Ichigo feels himself awaken further. “If I ever grab ya like that and end up hurtin’ ya, punch me.”

Ichigo blinks. He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, but he also has no intention of punching someone going through a nightmare, so he simply nods. Shinji pursues his lips like he knows Ichigo is not going to do it. Ichigo shrugs and doesn’t say anything. He’s not sorry.

Getting up and getting ready is an awkward affair. Shinji leaves for the bathroom, perhaps aware of Ichigo’s discomfort. Ichigo frowns at nothing while he puts on sweatpants, discarding his other clothes in a pile on the floor; he’s used to living with other people in close spaces after a whole month of Rukia living in his closet, but something about having Shinji around seems... charged. He doesn’t know exactly what, but it may have something to do with the fact that Shinji has the weight of the future on his shoulders.

Ichigo wonders what role he himself is going to have to play in all of this.

He hears the bathroom door open and close again, but Shinji doesn’t return to the bedroom right away. Ichigo can tell he’s standing outside the door by the shadow his feet cast on the floor, through the gap. He sighs; this isn’t gonna be easy, is it?

He watches that shadow for a while, unsure of whether he should open the door and get on with it, or wait for Shinji to come around.

Shinji decides for him. He turns around and Ichigo hears his footsteps on the stairs, soft and sure.

“Yo, Ichigo.” Kon's voice seems unduly loud in the quiet of the morning. “Are you going to tell me who that guy is?”

Ichigo turns to Kon, wondering how much he should say, if he should say anything at all. Then again, people will know sooner or later, right? Kon fidgets under his stare, soft orange paws rubbing together.

“He came from the future,” Ichigo says, and almost winces. That sounded like a dumb lie instead of the incredible truth. Kon keeps silent, his dark beady eyes never leaving Ichigo, and Ichigo has never felt judged by a stuffed animal before, but there's a first time for everything.

Kon sighs. “Look, if you don't wanna tell me the truth, that's fine. BUT AT LEAST COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETT—”

Ichigo slaps his hand against Kon's mouth, glaring at him. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Don't wake the whole house.”

Kon has the decency to look chastised, but he still glares back at Ichigo. A tired sigh wants to escape Ichigo's lips, but he shrugs instead. If Kon doesn't want to believe him, that's fine. He wouldn't believe himself either, if he didn't know both Shinjis.

Ah well, he better go after his reticent guest and see if he wants breakfast, at least.

 

 

 

 

Ichigo finds Shinji in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and staring outside. He looks over when Ichigo enters, and for a few seconds he stares like he's never seen Ichigo before. Then he smiles, small and hesitant.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ichigo answers, resisting the urge to fidget under that gaze.

He starts on breakfast then, and Shinji sits at the table to give him space to work. They're quiet for a while; it's surprising, because Ichigo is almost used to the chaos of the warehouse. This silence is new. Shinji is one of the most chatty Visoreds, but his future counterpart seems content to sit in a corner and vanish into the quiet.

When breakfast is almost ready, Ichigo glances over and finds Shinji eyeing the photos stuck to the freezer.

There’s one of the whole family when Masaki was still alive; it’s the only one with everyone. Ichigo barely remembers the occasion, but he remembers his mom picking him up, remembers his sisters giggling, his father saying something to them, and then the flash of the camera by a stranger. It’s the last picture they all took together.

The other ones are more recent. There’s Karin asleep on the couch, TV light bright on her face and a joystick on her stomach. Yuzu with a big smile, holding one of the first cakes she ever made, chocolate on her cheek and her shirt and the floor. Ichigo curled up on his windowsill on a warm afternoon, face buried in a book. Isshin holding the girls against his chest as they all sang Happy Birthday to them. Ichigo and the girls watching a movie in the living room, popcorn all over the floor. (There’s no picture of Ichigo and Isshin, though.)

Ichigo looks back at Shinji and tries to identify the look on his face. Something pained, definitely, but nothing clear. He turns back to the food.

“Are ya gonna train today?” Shinji finally breaks the silence.

“Yeah. I need to.”

“Do ya, really?”

“Well, yeah. You know I need to... to control the hollow.” Ichigo says, voice soft in the early morning. He doesn’t want to wake his sisters, but he also doesn’t want to talk about it. Shinji doesn't answer. Ichigo frowns down at his hands, but he doesn’t stop moving.

“Food’s almost ready,” Ichigo says. He’s about to give Shinji directions of where plates and cutlery are, but Shinji gets up before he can say anything. He moves with certainty, like he knows his way around Ichigo’s kitchen. And he does; he never stops moving, knows exactly where everything is, and in a couple of minutes he has the table ready. Ichigo blinks, surprised. He opens his mouth, not sure how to frame the question without some incredulity, but Shinji answers before he can say anything.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in this kitchen.”

It’s quiet, mournful. The sun is barely peeking through the window, batting away the chill. It shines on Shinji’s face as he leans against the counter again, eyes on Ichigo.

Shinji's eyes seem to always be on him.

They bring the food to the table and settle down to eat. Shinji is taking his first bite when Ichigo finds the courage to ask, “So we get along, then? In the future?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Unless ya think I hijack yer kitchen from time ta time.”

Ichigo smiles. “I wouldn't put it past you.”

“Fair. But yeah, we get along. Got along? Will get along?”

“‘Get along’, I guess? I mean, you still get along with future me, right? So present tense seems the most correct.”

Shinji doesn’t freeze, doesn’t say anything, just keeps eating, but Ichigo still feels the mood take a nosedive. He frowns down at his breakfast, wonders what he said wrong, which part he should apologize for. Did they have a fight in the future? Are they not friends anymore? Were they ever friends? God, this future and present thing is tiring.

“Is this one of those things you can’t talk about?”

Shinji does stop eating then; he raises his head, eyes meeting Ichigo’s. “More or less.” He licks his lips, looks down again. “Let’s talk about it later.”

What a clear avoidance of it. Well, Ichigo’s not going to push. “Yeah, of course,” he answers, diving back into his food and missing the pained smile sent his way.

When they’re done, Shinji is the one to collect their dirty dishes and wash them. Ichigo stares a little. He covers the rest of the food for his family; soon the rest of the house will wake up. He turns toward the door, one foot already out as he says, “I’m gonna go get ready, then.”

“Ichigo,” Shinji calls. Ichigo turns around, but Shinji is not looking at him. “Will ya come home tonight?”

Ichigo hesitates for a second. “Wasn’t in my plans...” he says, and promptly grimaces. He opens his mouth to retract it, to compromise on some sort of schedule, so he won’t leave Shinji completely alone for days, but Shinji beats him to it.

“Change yer plans, then. Come home tonight; come earlier, and I’ll give ya some trainin’ o’ my own, yeah?”

Ichigo stills, eyebrows lifting. Shinji turns around for a brief second, the beginnings of a smile on his face; something confident instead of the smug expression Ichigo was expecting.

“Aren’t we going to make a mess of things if we train here?” Even as Ichigo asks, he’s already calculating how sooner he can cut training without anyone getting on his ass for it. Present Shinji—he needs to sort this name thing out, it’s too confusing—will be displeased, but Ichigo can’t quite bring himself to care.

“It’s not physical trainin’; not yet anyway. It’ll be quite borin’, but I promise it’ll help.”

“Hmmm.” Curiosity piqued, it doesn’t take Ichigo any effort to agree. “Alright.”

“Great. Get goin’ then.”

“Yeah yeah, no need to tell me.” Ichigo scowls at Shinji’s back, but goes back to his room before he can get into an argument. His things are already in his bag, and by the time he's in fresh clothes and is closing the front door behind him, he hears the first movements of other people waking inside the house.

He turns around slightly, sees a piece of blond hair in the corner of the kitchen window. Ichigo waves at Shinji before he can second guess himself, and then he's off.

 

 

 

 

The walk to the warehouse would take the better part of two hours, but Ichigo always takes a bus that clears off a good chunk of the middle, leaving him walking another forty minutes. It's a good warm up for him—except when he actually needs to get back home and can’t quite walk straight. Lisa did mention that he could leave his body home and shunpo back and forth, but Ichigo doesn’t want to imagine what kind of trouble Kon would get into while in his body for days on end.

When Ichigo crosses the barrier and opens the door, he’s greeted by a voice that’s become quite familiar.

“Weeeell, someone’s here early.” Shinji—Hirako? It’s fine if he calls him Hirako, right? It’s not like Ichigo uses his name out loud at all, actually—grins down at him from the top of the stairs, and Ichigo gets his first real glimpse of the differences between them. Sure, he could have realized some things when he laid eyes on Shinji yesterday, but now that he’s back to Situation Normal, it’s easier to put things into perspective. Ichigo doesn’t respond. He leans against the door as his eyes don’t quite leave Hirako. He was right, Shinji does looks older.

“I came early because I’m gonna have to leave early,” Ichigo says, and watches as Hirako narrows his eyes at him. Wow, even a few hours of knowing Shinji is enough for Ichigo to realize how tense Hirako usually is around him. He’s always aware of it, of course; he’s barely a guest here, regardless of how well some of the members—mostly Mashiro and Hachi—treat him. But being aware of something and actually witnessing it first hand are two different things. Ichigo braces himself for a reprimand, and Hirako doesn’t disappoint.

“Yer gonna leave? Today? Wha’ happened to trainin’ ‘til ya can’t move anymore?” The words sound almost nice, like Hirako is simply wondering why he changed his mind, but Ichigo hears the faint disapproval in his tone. He scowls up at him.

“Someone’s gonna make a disappointed face at me if I do that.” Ichigo doesn’t clarify; let Hirako think he’s talking about his sisters. (Which he kind of is as well, because Yuzu always looks way happier when he’s home, and even Karin looks less tense, although she never voices it.)

Hirako doesn’t scoff, but he lifts his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with Ichigo’s excuse. Ichigo shrugs back at him and moves toward the stairs, intent on not letting that gaze bother him. He passes Hirako on the way to the spare bedroom—the one he’s claimed for himself whenever he’s here—, and his eyes stray to him without his consent. Hirako is looking back at him, but Ichigo can’t quite read him, the same way he can’t quite read Shinji. He wonders how deliberate the glimpses of emotions he gets actually are, and how much his own face and body language send back.

Their gaze locking only lasts a second before Ichigo turns away, though. He hopes he keeps his pace even as he makes his way to the far end of the hall. Inside the room that’s not exactly his, there’s a futon and a nightstand, and nothing else. Not surprising; Ichigo doubts they get much visitors. He leaves his bag and his body behind, but pauses before leaving the room.

Some exhaustion still pulls at his muscles. He flexes a hand and pokes at his reiatsu, feeling somewhat sluggish. Then he heaves a big sigh and opens the door. Today is going to be one of those days.

When he passes the kitchen, Mashiro calls to him. “Berry-tan! Want breakfast?” Her smile is almost contagious; if Ichigo were a little less tired and weary of everything and everyone, he might have smiled back.

“Not today, but thanks anyway.”

“Let me know if you change your mind!” She waves him away and turns back to the stove, some spicy smell wafting through the air. Ichigo winces a little, remembering the only time he dared to eat Mashiro’s food.

Outside, Hachi’s barrier is already up, the slight hum of power getting louder as Ichigo gets closer to it. Despite everything, it’s a comforting sound, somehow. Hachi is sitting by the side, tea cup in hand and exuding a calmness that Ichigo would like to achieve some day. They exchange little waves.

Hiyori is also there as well, and he schools his expression before she can see the way he almost winces. She’s a hard taskmaster. Ichigo still has some bruises left from yesterday, so deep that they bled through his soul and showed up on his body.

Hiyori nods at him; he nods back.

They always start by basically dancing around each other, sword blows light and not much speed in their steps. The purpose is to warm up the muscles before going into the strenuous stuff.

“There’s no point barging into harder exercise if you’re not going to take care of your muscles first,” she had said the first time, after asking how Ichigo usually trained. “You’re young now, you can deal with physical stress, but what about when you get older, baldy?” And then she had crushed him into a rock.

As annoying as Hiyori is on a daily basis, she’s right and Ichigo can’t bring himself to argue. The only time he can remember having actual instructors, people that were determined to give him the best tools to learn, was at the dojo when he was little. Whatever Urahara and Yoruichi taught him was desperate measures in desperate circumstances. (Not that this time isn’t desperate too, but at least Ichigo isn’t scrambling to put something together in three days.)

After warming up, Hiyori takes no time going into the next phase. Ichigo blinks and she’s standing right in front of him, mask in place and cold golden eyes staring at him. He barely dodges the swipe at his throat, crouching low and aiming a punch at her gut... but it’s _her_ hand that connects to the side of his head, a slap that momentarily blinds him. Hiyori utilizes this moment to kick him in the chest and send him flying.

Ichigo grunts as his back connects to the kidou wall. The impact makes a noise like a crack of electricity, and the hum of energy gets louder for an instant. Somewhere in the back of his head Ichigo thinks it sounds like a lightsaber, and he snorts out loud before he can think better of it.

“Huh?” Hiyori’s voice comes from a few meters away. “Are you laughing, baldy?” She sounds pissed.

Ichigo is not going to explain, so he grins at her, hand coming up to his face. The dark, suffocating feeling of his own reiatsu struggling against his grip is a small distraction, but after two weeks Ichigo can almost put it to the back of his mind. The mask closes around his face, leaving the sensation of something oily rolling over his skin.

The hollow cackles in the background of his mind, gleeful bloodlust leaking through the thin mental barrier that separates them. It’s ready to pummel Hiyori into the ground, and a small part of Ichigo couldn’t agree more.

Hiyori grins back, just as bloodthirsty, and the dance begins again.

 

 

 

 

Ichigo grunts as his back hits the ground, mask vanishing into nothing. He lost his zanpakutou a few seconds ago, somewhere to his right, due to a blow so intense from Hiyori’s sword that he’s still feeling the ringing in his muscles as he picks himself up.

He barely gets up, and when he does his legs almost fail him.

Hiyori’s eyes slide off him like Ichigo’s not even there. “I guess you’re done for now. Time for a break.” She turns around and starts walking toward the barrier.

Ichigo scowls at her back, bites his tongue against a retort. He makes his way toward Zangetsu and picks it off the ground, dispersing his bankai in the process. He can still feel the edge of madness though, knows there’s still some black and gold in his eyes, can feel his mouth wanting to pull into a grin out of his control.

He goes inside, set on going straight to his room, only to be stopped by Hirako. He’s got a look that has Ichigo on alert, and he knows his eyes just got blacker. Hirako doesn’t seem intimidated though; he grins like he’s sharing a joke with Ichigo, and Ichigo feels his face pull into an angry expression without his consent.

“What?” He asks, already at the end of his rope. Thankfully the sun is coming down, which means it's time to go.

“Don’t make that face; yer doing good, Ichigo.”

Ichigo scoffs. “If you can call an increase of two seconds ‘good’, than yeah, I’m doing _good_.” He keeps walking toward the stairs and his room, pausing long enough to shake his head at Mashiro as she raises a bowl of... something in his direction. Her disappointed face is almost enough to make him reconsider, but his feet don’t stop moving.

Ichigo didn’t think he would feel like this when he left this morning, but he wants to go home.

“We can increase yer trainin’ if ya think it’s goin’ slow,” Hirako says, following right behind him.

Ichigo frowns, thrown off by the offer. He does need to get stronger, but if they increase his training he'll spend even more time away from home... which is usually not a problem; but now, thinking of spending two, three days in a place he barely feels welcome, sparring until his muscles freeze from exhaustion, Ichigo feels tired. Suddenly he can't quite understand how he managed two whole weeks of this.

“Nah, it’s fine how it is.” Ichigo doesn’t say that trampling over him is not as effective as they’re expecting. Hirako and Hiyori and sometimes Lisa always emphasize the importance of his mask; that the longer he can sustain it before falling on his knees, the better. Ichigo is not an expert in battle, but he can’t help but feel this isn’t all there is. Not like he has a choice, though—who else is going to teach him about his hollow side? It’s not like there are other hybrids casually walking around. Well... not until yesterday, there wasn’t.

He feels a smile trying to break free, so he keeps his head straight on. He knows the mixture of smugness and unpleasantness that his face is showing right now, and he'd rather get his things and get the hell out before they start an argument. (There were a lot of arguments in the first few days. Ichigo gets mad just thinking about them.)

He reaches his room, but before he can even open the door, there's a heavy hand on his shoulder. Ichigo considers ignoring it, but the hand squeezes in warning, so Ichigo schools his expression to the best of his abilities and turns around.

Hirako is watching him with a slight twist of his mouth, displeasure in the line of his shoulders and stiff posture.

“Look, I know ya must miss home, and I'm sure yer sisters miss ya too. But there's a war comin’ and it ain't gonna stop just because ya feel like takin’ a break. We can't afford breaks.”

Ichigo shuffles a little, unsure of how to answer; what is he supposed to say to that? _Don't worry, I got a future version of you living with me. I'm sure he knows what's gonna happen and how to prevent it. Besides, he promised to teach me some helpful things that you’re clearly not showing me._

He twitches, oh so tempted to blurt it out, if only to see the total confusion on Hirako's face. “I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s not like I was gonna train all through the night anyway.”

Hirako doesn’t let go of his shoulder and his expression doesn’t change. He looks like he wants to say more, but Ichigo turns around and opens the door, stepping toward the futon and dislodging Hirako’s hand. Falling inside his body is always a little disconcerting, like he doesn’t fit right for a while. It takes a moment to recenter himself and, when he looks over, Hirako is still standing by the door, arms crossed and expression closed off. Ichigo can’t help making a face at him, and Hirako’s expression sour even more.

“Ichigo—”

“Save it, man. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Not everything’s about what ya want, brat.”

Ichigo clicks his tongue, but can’t get a word out before Hirako keeps going.

“There’re a lot of things ya don’t understand, but I know yer not dumb, so don’t act like it. There’s a war almost on our doorstep, ya can have a break when it’s over! Yer sisters aren’t babies anymore, they can survive a few days without ya—”

Ichigo grabs Hirako by the collar of his dress shirt and brings their faces close. He glares at him through a haze of black and gold and distant growling.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about my sisters, asshole.” Ichigo’s faintly aware of his doubled voice, the metallic flavor and the undertone of murder, but can’t bring himself to care. Hirako doesn’t react beyond glaring back at him, eyes their normal color. None of them say anything for a moment or two.

Ichigo lets go of Hirako just as soft footsteps enter his range of hearing.

“Shinji, Berry-tan,” Mashiro says from the hallway, sunny disposition firmly in place despite the heavy atmosphere and the pull of reiatsu. “Dinner’s ready!”

Ichigo struggles for a few seconds, still glaring at Hirako. Eventually he sighs and closes his eyes, willing his anger back. He moves within Hirako’s personal space just enough to grab his backpack on the floor. When he looks up again he makes sure to make eye contact with Hirako for a single second, then turns and heads toward Mashiro.

“I’m not gonna eat dinner either, but thanks.” He does manage a smile this time, however small, and Mashiro smiles back.

“Alright! Be careful on your way home!”

Ichigo waves without looking back.

 

 

 

 

He barely manages to not slam the door on his way in. Still, he closes it with more force than necessary, and winces as the sound echoes through the house. No reprimands come though, which means Yuzu is not home yet. Small mercies.

Ichigo's about to leave his things by the door and go lie down and mope, when Shinji emerges from the kitchen and Ichigo does a double take.

Shinji is wearing a hot pink apron.

“The fuck is that?”

“It's an apron, Ichigo. I'm sure ya've seen one before.”

“It's... pink.”

“Yah.”

Ichigo blinks, stares at the apron for a second, then shrugs. Shinji can use whatever he wants, anyway.

“How was trainin’?” Shinji asks, turning around to go back into the kitchen. Ichigo sighs and follows him.

“It was shit. You’re such an asshole.”

Shinji chuckles. “I almost feel like apologizin', but ya can be just as annoyin'. Also, don’t lump me in with my younger self. I’m a different man now; definitely more handsome, at least.”

Ichigo smiles, almost unconsciously. He can already feel the tension leaving his shoulders. It’s good to be home.

“What’s with the smug face? Don’t laugh at me, brat.”

“Don’t be so conceited. I was thinking about dinner.”

“Yeah yeah, it’s almost ready.”

“Wait,” Ichigo says, blinking at Shinji and finally noticing the smell. “Are you cooking?”

“Well, yeah. Yuzu said she would be home late today, so I volunteered.”

“You volunteered.”

“Gotta earn my keep, right?”

Ichigo pauses. He frowns at Shinji’s back, waiting for a joke, but Shinji doesn’t follow it up with anything.

“You know... you don’t have to 'earn' your stay or whatever. I asked you to stay, didn’t I?”

Shinji turns the stove off and turns around, eyeing Ichigo with a serious look. Ichigo straightens his back and doesn’t look away from Shinji.

“You did. That was careless of ya, don’tcha think? I could be someone else in disguise. I could be from a dimension where Hirako Shinji is a traitor. Hell, the Hirako Shinji from here and now could very well be a traitor for all ya know.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A traitor?”

Shinji's expression doesn't waver as he answers, “No.”

Ichigo stares at him for a moment, takes in the relaxed posture, the lazy grip on the wooden spoon. The way Shinji's eyes stare back at him with the sort of smug defiance Ichigo sometimes sees in the mirror.

He shrugs, smiles a little. “Okay.”

Shinji sighs, eyebrows lifting and lips pursuing in exasperation. He points at Ichigo with the spoon.

“See, that's exactly what I'm talkin’ about! How can ya be sure?”

“If we're really friends in the future, you know I'm usually good with this kinda stuff.” Ichigo sits down and balances himself on the chair's back legs, throwing an unrepentant grin at Shinji.

“I know. I also know yer careless when ya think ya have all the facts.”

Ichigo's grin vanishes into his scowl—not a _pout_ , thank you very much—, but he doesn't deny it. It _is_ true, after all.

“Whatever. I'm sure I'm right.”

Shinji's face as he turns back to the food is unreadable, but Ichigo thinks his eyes go soft, just for a moment.

“You are,” Shinji says, and the silence that follows is... comfortable, even though Ichigo knows there's much more that Shinji isn’t telling. He hopes that will change soon, but for now Ichigo will wait. Because when he thinks about asking, he remembers the way Shinji’s eyes shifted at breakfast, a faint grimace on his features. He thinks about the scar and the short hair and the worn clothes, and everything adds up to something Ichigo almost doesn’t want to know.

Almost.

 

 

 

 

Dinner is as weird as the night before, the only difference being that Isshin never shows up. Ichigo looks around the table before asking Karin, “Goat Face?”

She shrugs. “He left a note saying he’ll be home late and we shouldn’t wait for him.”

Ichigo frowns; it’s not like Isshin to miss dinner, or to leave the house at all, specially during the night. He did seem uncomfortable with Shinji’s presence yesterday, but Ichigo thought it would be temporary. He mentally shrugs. It’s not like he cares whether his father is comfortable or not. Besides, dinner time is quieter with Shinji around, and Ichigo appreciates the calm.

His eyes track Shinji’s hands as he regales the girls with his video game conquests. Karin has a look of admiration that Ichigo rarely sees on her. A tiny jolt of jealousy courses through him, but he quickly squashes it. Karin could use some other adult influence besides Isshin; it will be good for her. Yuzu probably doesn’t understand half of what Shinji is saying, but she looks just as interested in their guest.

Ichigo is simply content to let the conversation wash over him while he eats.

After dinner, when the table’s cleaned, the food’s put away and the girls are distracted by homework, Shinji tells Ichigo to leave his body in his room. Ichigo lifts an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t complain.

When he goes downstairs again, all the lights are off, except the yellow one at the back of the house. He follows it to the Kurosakis’ tiny backyard. The space isn’t much—a little bit of grass and some plants Yuzu likes caring for—but there’s a small bench in the corner, enough for two people. Shinji is sitting there with his legs crossed under him, his zanpakutou laid across his lap. Shinji’s posture is relaxed against the bench, elbows resting on the backrest. He has a slight smile on his face as he watches Ichigo approach.

Ichigo props his own zanpakutou against the bench and sits down. He brings his knees to his chest and looks at Shinji, knowing his own expression is unabashedly eager. Shinji’s face dances with amusement at it.

“Alright alright, I get it,” Shinji says, and he tries to act unaffected, tone matter of fact, but there’s a grin on the corner of his mouth threatening to come out. “Like I said, it’s not physical trainin’. Not yet, anyway.”

“That’s okay. I’m already getting that.”

“Yeeeaaaah...” Shinji’s face tells Ichigo exactly what he thinks of his training.

“Oh?” Ichigo says, grin stretching across his face. “So you think it’s bullshit too?”

A sigh. “It’s not exactly bullshit. Ya do need more endurance trainin’, but not only that. Honestly, at this point in time we didn’t exactly know what I do now.”

“Which is?” Ichigo leans forward, eyes big and curious.

“Now now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” Shinji’s grin exudes mischief.

“Shinji, c’mon!” Ichigo says, whining tone earning a laugh directed at him.

“Patience is key. Yes,” Shinji says, lifting a hand to stop Ichigo from interrupting, “I _know_ that’s not yer forté. We’ll work on that too.” Shinji settles down a little more on the bench, and Ichigo unconsciously does the same, preparing himself.

“We’ll start with jinzen,” Shinji says.

“And what is that?”

“Basically? Meditation.”

Ichigo knows he won’t be able to keep the displeased look out of his face, so he doesn’t even try. Shinji only sighs again. The look on his face is that of someone who knows exactly what kind of uphill battle awaits them. Ichigo doesn’t care. Meditation sounds boring and ineffective, and Ichigo has had it with useless things.

“I’ll be honest, that sounds like bullshit too,” he says.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

The silence stretches as they stare at each other. Ichigo swallows; this is different than his face off against Hirako. Shinji is calm where Hirako is angry. Shinji waits for Ichigo to speak, and Hirako talks like he already knows what Ichigo will say. Ichigo sighs, looking down at his knees as he rubs a hand against his neck in slight embarrassment.

“Okay, tell me about it.”

Shinji’s smile is pleased and maybe even a little bit proud? Ichigo feels a blush slowly appear on his cheeks and knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Jinzen,” Shinji says, pale hand caressing his zanpakutou’s sheath with some reverence, “is a particular type of meditation specially designed ta speak with one’s zanpakutou.”

“But I already talk to Ossan.”

“When ya want it, or when _he_ wants it?” Shinji asks, and for a split second Ichigo is sure his voice doubles. He opens his mouth to protest, to follow the instinct to defend his own zanpakutou, but then he stops. Shinji is right, isn’t he? Ichigo can’t recall any moment where their interactions started simply because Ichigo wanted to. It’s always under duress, usually when Ichigo is not seeing something obvious and Ossan needs to step in. The blush that had subsided comes back, and Ichigo ducks his head.

“Don’t worry, though,” Shinji says. “I’m here now, right? I’ll teach ya these things.”

“Yeah... thanks,” Ichigo says, but doesn’t lift his head. His embarrassment must be palpable to Shinji, and just thinking about it makes Ichigo blush harder. The inadequacy he’s so used to feeling around all things shinigami hits him without warning.

Hell, he doesn’t know anything. No one wants to tell him anything, either. No one, except...

“Hey.” Shinji’s voice is soft, softer than Ichigo has ever heard before, and the novelty of it makes him look up without thinking. He can’t exactly read Shinji’s expression, but there’s also no judgment there. And have Shinji’s brown eyes always had that hint of gold in them?

“There’s no need ta be ashamed, Ichigo. Ya have no obligation ta know anythin’ about shinigami powers, or hollow ones, or whatever. I’m... I’m sorry that the others and I let it get ta this point. But like I said, I’m here now.”

Ichigo nods, not trusting his voice.

“Alright then,” Shinji says.

But he doesn’t get to explain anything. His head turns around, eyes narrowing at the concrete wall separating the backyard from the neighbor’s house. Ichigo snaps to attention too, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can’t feel anything yet, but if Shinji’s looking like that, something must be coming.

A few seconds of tense silence, then Shinji smiles. It’s small and even a little unfriendly, but some of the tension leaves his shoulders, as if he knows something.

Ichigo is about to ask what’s going on when a voice full of fake pleasantness comes from above them.

“Good evening, Kurosaki-san. Hirako-san.”

Ichigo looks up, and he has to admit he’s surprised by the billowing green haori. Urahara’s perched atop the wall, and he’s not looking at Ichigo. His eyes are trained on Shinji, something cold in them. Ichigo’s heart starts racing and, despite the chilly night, sweat slowly gathers on his back. He wonders if they’re going to fight.

“Well,” Shinji says, and the double voice is back, Ichigo is sure of it now, “look at what the goat dragged in.”

Urahara’s only answer is a mock of a smile.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for the response on the first chapter. This is my first multi-chaptered fic and I’m really nervous, but your support really helps me :} I'm sorry for taking almost three months to update, real life happened, yadda yadda, you guys know the drill.
> 
> Ah well, I hope you guys liked it. A special thanks to my hand-holders Dyal, Fred and Howls <3 Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and if you have any questions about the fic or just wanna chat about Bleach, I’m on [tumblr](https://raz-ia.tumblr.com/).


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